Moments
by scarletgold
Summary: All those moments, he realizes, have been inevitably leading up to this. Lily walks up the aisle and James simply watches, both brimming with thoughts, memories, and emotions they can no longer name. Drabble.


**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter (though sometimes I still fervently wish I do). The wonderful Miss Rowling does.

**A/N:** I couldn't remember how weddings of the Wizarding world went, and I didn't have the time to check the last book. It's simply walking up the aisle, though, but if you see anything erroneous about it please do tell me in a review. If you don't, I'd still love it if you tell me what you think. :)

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_Moments_

He watches her white-clad figure as she stands there, framed by the great arch at the entrance, and a thousand different emotions fill him all at once, so much so that he thinks he is about to explode. He watches as she takes her first steps towards him; even from far away he could see her face – the only clear image in his slowly blurring vision.

She is radiant. He had thought her pretty the first time he saw her on the Hogwarts Express, her flaming hair as feisty as her spirit. He and his friends had teased her mercilessly then, for her defiance and the air of superiority and condescension she assumed whenever she encountered them or their silly pranks, but she was strong, even as a child, matching their snide remarks with a sharp wit of her own.

They had called her _Saint Evans_ then, for being exactly that – a girl who would not be caught doing wrong, but he thinks, as he looks at her, that she had never looked more angelic than now. Her lush red hair is elegantly arranged, and it makes him smile to remember how her hair seemed to crackle whenever she was angry at him. He remembers her in their fourth year, when he provoked her anger so much that she punched him in the face. It startled him, not to mention left him with a bleeding mouth, but he had never been able to call her Saint Evans again.

In his seventh year, though, she has revealed a side of her he rarely saw, one that laughed freely and flirted along playfully with him, one that knew how to loosen up and have fun. He remembers those moments he spent with her alone, those moments of light banter at the Head Boy and Girl's office or while patrolling the corridors at night, simple moments and yet happy moments – and today he realizes they had all, inevitably, been leading up to this.

She has crossed nearly half the distance, but he does not know how quickly or how slowly. Time seems irrelevant to him, all of a sudden, and he is only aware of her presence, her glowing smile leaving him not even traces of a shadow, and he thinks for the thousandth time, as he looks at her green eyes, that she is beyond perfect.

* * *

She watches his black-clad figure as he stands there, by the altar, and a single emotion fills her – an emotion she could not name – and it fills her little by little, until it has filled her entirety and she feels she is exploding. She watches him watch her; even from a distance she could easily see his face – the only face she sees amidst multitudes.

And yet she wants to laugh, too, because she knows he is trying to smile – to grin, even – and simply could not. She could not remember a time he could not at least muster a small smile. After all, he and his friends have always been able to hold Hogwarts in uproar, through outrageously elaborate pranks and simple but genuinely funny jokes. They had been a notorious group of boys, though, and she had hated them – him – for being so.

She had called him _an_ _arrogant bullying toe rag_, for being exactly that – an arrogant boy who strutted the castle like he owned it, showed off his Quidditch skills as though it was the world's greatest achievement, flirted with girls as if he was the greatest gift of God to women, and hexed people at whim just because he can. Yet, today he looks far from the rather shallow boy she remembers, who rumpled his already messy hair all the time, just to make him look like he has just gotten off his broomstick. His jet-black hair is still messy, but she thinks she has never seen him more beautiful than now.

She remembers him in her seventh year, when he had been pleasant, thoughtful, even charming, and more mature in many ways than she had originally thought. Later she learned about the sixth-year incident involving his friends, revealing an unexpected streak of heroism in him. She never called him an _arrogant bullying toe rag _after the discovery. He has never given up his sense of humor, or his defiance, but she has learned to accept them as part of the bigger, more beautiful picture.

Finally, she is standing in front of him, but she does not realize how long it took her, or how short. Time does not matter to her, all of a sudden – it is as though all the world has stopped to witness the moment. But she is only aware of his presence, of him standing in front of her, his hazel eyes proclaiming a thousand words his lips could not, at the moment. As she looks at him she realizes for the first time how he is beyond perfect.

"James," she says simply, and at last his face breaks into a true smile. He holds out his hand, and she takes it.

"Lily," he whispers, and she smiles back. She feels she has never been so happy to hear him simply say her name.

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_A/N: Again, reviews would be nice. And many thanks for reading. :)_


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